Chapter 20 #2
Jude glances away for a second, biting back another laugh—less amused, more...awestruck. “Damn,” he murmurs. “Something’s changed in you. Once timid Emma...you’re now willing to walk into what could be certain death. You know that, right?”
“I do,” I say before I can stop myself, my love for him again yanking me toward a path that isn’t safe. “I’d do anything for you, Jude. I just got you back.” I swallow. “And I don’t intend to let you go.”
His eyes lift to mine, and they’re alive in a way I haven’t seen in so long. And beneath the table, his knee presses just a little more firmly into mine. He turns to Micah. “We’ll reach out. Rook owes me a favor anyway.”
Micah snorts. “He doesn’t owe you a favor. He owes you a bullet.”
Jude winks at him. “Semantics.”
I narrow my eyes. “Wh...what do you mean he owes you? What for?”
Micah places his elbow on the table and covers his face while he focuses on the soup like it’s suddenly more interesting.
Jude is amused by his friend. “I killed his brother.”
My face pales. “Oh.”
He just smirks, and Heather finally exhales a heavy breath. The bitch had nearly stopped breathing through that.
“Might take a while to get a hold of him,” Micah sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “But I guess we can try to get his contact information.”
The wine thankfully softens the stress in my shoulders and the haunted look in Jude’s eyes. It settles over all four of us, loosening the tension that has been pretty much strangling my every breath since the weekend.
Heather and Micah end up squeezed together on the loveseat. She bumps her knee into his with a grin. He bumps hers right back, then drapes his arm along the back cushion, “accidentally” pulling her closer.
My eyebrows lift.
Hers lift higher.
Micah’s hand settles at her hip like it’s always belonged there. Heather turns pink—fast.
Jude sits beside me on the rug as Heather laughs at something Micah mutters and leans into him. This time, Micah doesn’t pretend. He wraps an arm around her and tugs her in.
“You two can stay in my guest room,” I finally say, taking a sip of wine that’s more gulp than sip. “If you don’t want to drive. Plus...you might need it.”
Heather goes scarlet. “Oh. I mean—I didn’t—”
Micah smirks. “Yeah. That works.”
She shoots him a stunned glance, and I almost snort.
Jude exhales a laugh under his breath. “We’ll have to be up early,” he says, tugging gently at a loose thread on my pants. “Nolan’s coming around nine.”
“Yeah,” I murmur. “Heather and I have work, too. Tuesdays are always a treat.”
Heather nods quickly. “Early morning for us all. Yay, adult life.” But she says it while melting sideways into Micah’s shoulder, his hand absently tracing shapes on her thigh.
My heart squeezes at the sight. I suddenly feel very hopeful for her. When I talked to Micah this weekend, I felt nothing but genuine warmth from him. He loves Jude, and because of that, I know he’s a good man.
Eventually, the living room grows heavy with that wine-induced relaxation and quiet. Jude catches my eye, tilts his head toward the back patio in a silent question. I answer by standing.
He follows me through the sliding glass door, the crisp and salty night air immediately rushing in. The ocean is loud tonight—waves crashing hard enough that I can almost feel its wrath under my bare feet. The string lights above emit a soft, amber glow, swaying in the breeze.
Jude lights a cigarette, the flame briefly illuminating the bruises along his knuckles. He inhales, the ember flaring, and leans his elbows on the wooden railing.
I step beside him, hugging myself tighter when a gust blows through my hair.
He notices.
Without looking at me, he shifts his body, blocking the wind with his frame. Just a quiet, instinctive movement.
“Thank you,” I whisper. “You know that’s bad for you, right?”
He exhales smoke with a chuckle, the wind stealing it almost instantly. “Don’t start with that.”
“Fine.” I pause, licking my lips.
“It’s the least damaging thing I do.”
I consider that, chewing my lip. “Thank you for not trying to control me. I know this is crazy, but I can’t just do nothing. And you can’t exactly call him up yourself since you, you know, killed his brother.”
A slow smile curls the corner of his mouth.
Not the charming one he gives fans, but the soft, tired one that used to be mine.
“It might not work, you know,” he says. “But I admire you for being willing to try.” He glances at me.
And then he reaches out and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, his fingertips grazing my cheek.
“You look different than you used to,” he murmurs. “Peaceful.”
“Do you remember how you used to sing to me to help chase my anxiety attacks away?”
His throat bobs.
“After you left, I needed to get medicine to help with it. And once I did that, I was able to really pursue school. Graduated and excelled faster than anyone else in the class. You leaving really forced me to focus.”
His jaw tightens, but he keeps his eyes on me.
“You’re amazing. Your business is truly beautiful.
And it’s truly you,” he says quietly, pausing.
“I wanted to tell you that I’m really grateful that you didn’t run away when you saw me in the hotel a few days ago.
Especially finding out what you did about me. ”
I swallow. “I’d never run from you.”
The wind rustles the string lights above us. Jude takes one last drag of his cigarette and turns fully toward me. “You would. Trust me,” he murmurs.
“No,” I say. “You should know that by now.”
A smirk. “Even knowing I’m a killer? You know that if any of it got out, I’d never see you again. I’d be locked away for the rest of my days.”
“Even knowing that,” I answer confidently, though it terrifies me. The version of me I built in his absence is cracking.
His breath stutters just slightly, enough that I feel it. We stand there like that, close but not touching, the ocean roaring behind us.
When we walk back inside, the warmth of it hits me, and I shiver.
Micah is sprawled across the loveseat, pillowed between Heather’s thighs, his back against her stomach.
She’s sitting upright, legs on either side of him, fingers combing slowly through his blonde hair.
He looks blissed out. She looks like she’s trying not to grin like an idiot.
My eyebrows shoot up.
Heather catches my eye over Micah’s head and immediately mouths don’t you say a word.
I bite back a laugh.
Jude brushes past me, his hand warm and subtle at the small of my back as he walks by, and we settle together on the couch opposite them.
The four of us sink into a comfortable silence.
It’s sleepy and wine-heavy, reminding me of far too many nights in college when she and I would do exactly this while procrastinating assignments.
Micah eventually stretches, Heather’s hands slipping away from his hair, and he stands up. “Okay,” he yawns, rubbing his face, “guest room?”
Heather gets up too, smoothing her hoodie like she wasn’t just cradling a grown man against her chest. “Yeah. Uh—yeah.”
“I’m tired, too,” Jude yawns, helping me up.
We follow them down the hallway, the lights dim, the house quiet except for the distant ocean outside. Jude walks beside me, his arm brushing mine with every step, and it’s ridiculous how much it calms me.
We stop at the guest room door. Micah opens his mouth to say goodnight, but Heather tugs lightly at the front of his shirt.
He barely has a chance to lean down before she kisses him.
And it’s not an awkward, first-fling kind of kiss.
It’s slow, warm, like she’s been waiting all night to do it.
And knowing her, she has. Micah’s hand comes up to her jaw, and she melts into him.
“Oh my god,” I whisper under my breath.
Jude lets out a low laugh beside me. “Finally,” he murmurs.
Heather’s eyes widen as she pulls away from Micah. “Goodnight!” she squeaks, shoving him inside the room and slamming the door behind them.
I burst into soft laughter. Jude does too, shaking his head.
We look at each other in the dim hallway, and something in his expression mirrors what’s happening in my chest—a tenderness, a disbelief, a little hope beginning to take shape.
“Come on,” I whisper.
Jude nods, and follows me toward my bedroom. I close the bedroom door behind us, and suddenly the silence is even louder. He stands near my dresser, hands tucked into the pockets of his sweats, eyes tracking me.
“It feels...weird,” I admit, rubbing my arm as I move toward my closet. “Having you in my bedroom. But also...not weird at all.”
His mouth curves. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “Yeah, I know what you mean.”
I swallow, fingers brushing over the fabric of my pajama sets before I pick the blue one—soft cotton shorts and a fitted tank. I hesitate for half a beat before glancing at him. He’s watching me.
I struggle to steady my breathing. I turn my back to him, peeling off my shirt, then my jeans, and I can feel his gaze between my shoulder blades. I don’t ask him to look away, and by the time I slip into the matching set, my pulse is fluttering in my throat.
When I face him again, he’s still staring. He doesn’t pretend otherwise.
“You…” He clears his throat. “You look good. Better than good.”
My stomach flips. “You’re staring. You watched me the entire time, didn’t you?”
“Yeah,” he says. “I did.”
He pulls his shirt over his head in one smooth motion, letting it fall to the floor. Then he steps out of his sweats and stands there in nothing but black boxers—his body all lean lines and tense muscles, shifting as he climbs into the bed.
He looks nervous.
Jude Graves looks nervous.
Somehow, that makes me feel braver. I slide under the covers beside him, but I keep space between us, my heart beating too fast, my hands too warm.
He rubs his palms on the blankets. “This is weird, right?”
“We already used that word,” I whisper. “A lot, actually.”